


Homing Instincts

by walking_through_autumn



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: M/M, Tokyo Ghoul: re, speculations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2540756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walking_through_autumn/pseuds/walking_through_autumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their meetings were once a month and for less than half an hour every time. </p><p>Where Amon and Kaneki meet up, talk, and exchange information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homing Instincts

**Author's Note:**

> Exploring the Amon/Kaneki possibilities with Tokyo Ghoul: Re. No research, unbeta-ed, speculative.

The building smelt as old as it looked. When the man breathed in he could smell decay and the wet scent of mould – it was a wonder the building hadn’t been torn down yet. The wood, he saw as he stepped closer, was so rotted it looked like it might crumble under his fingertips. He placed his hand on it, tentatively, first with only the tips of his fingers, feeling the warmth of the sun in the wood, before he pushed the door open and stepped into the place for the first time in years.

It was ten to six on a Wednesday evening, far from the prying eyes and ears of the city center, where his only company was the wind, the dying sun, and the wooden structure that he could no longer call home.

Inside the building, he held the door open for a while to get used to the shadows of the place. The light threw his long shadow across the floor – he turned his head slowly, watching the dust particles dance in the light of the setting sun. There was no longer any furniture in the place, just panels and panels of wood, eaten by age and wind and rain with nobody to take care of the place.

He let the door fall close and began walking through the place, leaving footprints in the dust. Every corner he looked at he remembered – a voice reading a bible verse, the low chatter before dinner, muffled laughter – brief, vague flashes of memory. In his memory the windows had been cleaner than they were now, the light brighter, the place more cluttered with furniture and the items of daily life. He shook his head, checked his watch – seven minutes to six – and continued walking, past the rooms which used to have bunk beds and the kitchen with stoves that were no longer functional, until he reached the chapel.

Perhaps it was habit, perhaps it was memory – whatever it was, he did not hesitate to bow before stepping through the doorway.

This was the place that had changed the least. The prayer pews were still there, with a generous coating of dust and without the thin cushions he used to kneel on. His shoes made no noise as he made his way to the altar, above which the heavy wooden cross still hung. It was a small chapel, a place he used to spend Sunday mornings in, listening to the old man speak in an even, smooth voice, bowing his head in prayer next to the other children and feeling the warmth of the morning sun against his cheek. Not for the first time he wondered what the man had felt, whether he used to look out over the bowed heads of the children and decide who would become his next meal.

Five minutes to six. He stopped before the altar, imagining an old man with a wicked laughter and long, black garb, calloused hands holding a bible and chiding him for being too serious. Then he blinked and all he could see was the shadowed space behind the altar and the silent, looming cross. He looked up at the cross and knelt down, briefcase landing in the dust with a thump as he clasped his hands together. He stared at the cross hard, as though he could imprint it in his mind with sheer willpower, then he closed his eyes and pressed his nose against his clasped hands.

It was four minutes to six. The red light of the sun filtered through the grimy windows. He began murmuring verses under his breath, chapped lips brushing against his fingers. “ _Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God – ”_ his breath hitched – “ _and renew a right spirit within me._ ”

He was not reading the verses in order, he knew. He was reading them the way the old man used to, short pithy verses that weaved their way into his childhood. “ _Our Father in Heaven, hallowed be your name, your kingdom come, your will be done on earth as it is in heaven_ – _”_

He fell silent at the sound of footsteps behind him. The man did not open his eyes. He waited as the other person moved closer and closer to him, until he could feel the warmth of another living being near him and his quiet breaths. From his right he heard the soft sound of the young man kneeling beside him.

He did not have to glance at his watch to know it was exactly six.

“Good evening, Amon,” the young man said, as though it was an everyday occurrence for them to see each other in an abandoned orphanage chapel.

Without moving from his position Amon murmured, “Eyepatch.”

He heard a huff from Eyepatch – Kaneki Ken, Amon corrected in his mind, though it was hard for him to forget the name he had given the half-ghoul. “How are you?” Kaneki asked, keeping his voice hushed. He sounded tired. But Amon was not sure he had ever met Kaneki when he was not tired.

“Fine. Alive,” Amon said.

He was not lying. He was as alive as he could be while on the run. He even had time to shave, wash up, and feel vaguely human before coming to this place.

“Have you eaten?” Kaneki asked, an edge in his voice this time.

Amon twitched. He opened his eyes, adjusting to the weak light after a long time of having kept his eyes shut, and he looked at the cross. There was a diagonal strip of light across it, making the wood look warm and almost brimming with life. From the corner of his eye he could see Kaneki, his hair and face hidden with the large hood over his head. After a long while, long enough that the angle of the light had changed, casting more of the cross in shadow, Amon said, “Yes.”

Kaneki huffed again, sounding relieved. “Good. I was afraid…well, I’m glad to hear that.”

Amon lowered his clasped hands, resting them in his lap. Like Kaneki he stared ahead, contented to let the silence stretch. He felt more than saw Kaneki shift – the hood fell back slightly to reveal grey hair. Amon caught only a glimpse of his face before he bowed slightly to hide it from view – but a glimpse was enough. Kaneki’s face was still youthful, yet thinner than he remembered.

“Have…have _you_ been eating?” Amon asked.

Kaneki hummed. He picked at the lint on his trousers with his fingernails. “Recently…recently I don’t really need to eat. They’re testing a new…medicine on me. It’s supposed to make me feel full.”

“…does it?”

Kaneki shrugged and said, “I’m not hungry, if that counts. Just tired. A little.”

“It doesn’t sound safe,” Amon said before he could help it.

“No, it doesn’t,” Kaneki agreed. “But since when have they worried about anything to do with safety when it comes to ghouls?”

Amon didn’t know how to respond to that. He thought of his last meal, the easy, effortless way he had made the kill and ripped into the flesh, all the while wondering if that was what the young man had meant when he said, a long time ago, that it all tastes like _the guts of a rotting fish._ He wondered if he would prefer what they were giving Kaneki now, wondered if never having to taste ghoul flesh again was worth the risk of the experimental medicine.

“Do you know they call you Serpent now?” Kaneki asked after a few minutes of silence. The chapel was covered in more shadow than light by now.

“Yes. I heard,” Amon said.

“You’ve made quite a name for yourself. The ghoul that only hunts ghouls,” Kaneki said. He sounded almost nostalgic. “The Bureau doesn’t know what to do about you, you know. I’m supposed to be looking for you.”

Amon smiled a little at that. “Well. You’ve succeeded, then.”

“Maybe I should call them here?” Kaneki said as though he was seriously thinking about this. Amon could hear the grin in his voice. “Assure them this time it’s more than just a tall _tale_.”

“…your sense of humour is atrocious.”

“And your sense of humour is still non-existent.”

Amon rolled his eyes and shifted on his knees. Having this body meant he could hardly feel any pain unless it was inflicted by a ghoul, but that did not mean being on his knees for close to half an hour was any less uncomfortable. “Do you have any news for me?” he finally asked.

“Unfortunately,” Kaneki said, his voice lower and grimmer than before. “Aogiri is searching for you, Amon. And they’re getting closer.”

It was not exactly fresh news to Amon, but the fact that they were close enough to worry Kaneki made Amon frown. “How close?” he asked.

“There’s been suspicious activity in the 20th ward. More violent killings than usual. They are targeting ghouls and humans who might have come into contact with you.” Kaneki laced his fingers together as though in prayer and pressed them against his lips. His next whisper was so soft that Amon could only hear it with his enhanced sense of hearing. “You cannot stay in the 20th ward any longer.”

Amon nodded and considered his options. He had already known he could not stay in any one ward for an extended period of time. Perhaps he could explore the 24th ward and its mysteries, though he knew Kaneki would have a lot to say if he voiced the thought out. For his part of the deal, he said, “I’ve seen them, recently.”

“ _Them_?” Kaneki asked, head tilting to one side.

“Your old gang.”

Amon could see Kaneki’s shoulders slump in relief. “Is that so?” Kaneki breathed against his fingers. He sounded just a little less tired when he asked, “How…how are they?”

“I only saw Banjou and his three followers. They’re well. They’re in – ”

“No.”

For the first time since Kaneki’s arrival he turned to face Amon. Amon could see his eyes, shrouded though they might be by the hood. Kaneki’s dark eyes were pained. “No. Don’t tell me where they are. I might be…I might be tempted to find them,” he said.

“Okay,” Amon said, unable to look away from Kaneki, his aged eyes, his lips tightly pressed as though he had to suppress them from trembling. “Okay.”

It must be dark outside by now. The last shaft of pale sunlight was needle-thin, slanted across the cross and the hood that hid Kaneki’s grey hair from view. Amon reached out and pushed the hood away. Kaneki did not flinch or pull back. He watched silently, allowed Amon to check with his eyes that Kaneki was hanging on, that he was alive, allowed the hand on his cheek that retained the warmth of the outdoors and that smelt of days of weary travel.

“Be careful,” Amon said, brushing fingers through soft grey hair. He could not help but think black suited the boy better, but that was when times were simpler. They lived with what they had now.

“You too,” Kaneki said, closing his eyes briefly. He sighed and leaned against Amon’s palm, quietly enjoying the touch, before opening his eyes and saying, “We can’t meet here again. It’s too risky.”

Amon forced his mind to work and said, “The old Academy. It’s a few kilometers east of Kokuria.”

He could tell from Kaneki’s expression that he knew the place and did not think fondly of it. “Isn’t that dangerous for you?”

Amon shrugged. “It’s secluded enough. Aogiri probably won’t suspect I would go near Kokuria. And it’s easy for you to go there on the pretext of work.”

He drew his hand back, almost immediately missing the feeling of grey hair through his fingers and Kaneki leaning trustingly into his palm. “I suppose that’s fine…next moon then?” Kaneki asked, as he always did every time.

“Next moon,” Amon agreed. He began to stand from his kneeling position, blood rushing back into the limbs and bones creaking. With one hand he brushed the dust off his pants, with the other he grabbed the briefcase from where he had left it on the floor, keenly aware of Kaneki’s eyes following his movement.

“Still carrying that briefcase?” Kaneki asked, not moving from his kneeling position. He smiled up at Amon, eyes gleaming in the dark.

“Habit,” Amon said. It had his sad collection of basic necessities, no longer a container for an investigator’s weapon – he no longer needed any. Amon himself was a weapon against humans and ghouls alike. “Something I suppose you would know about, Investigator Sasaki.”

“Indeed,” Kaneki said with a laugh which sounded a little sad. “Indeed, Amon.”

Amon nodded and turned around, heading out of the chapel and the orphanage without a second glance back, the boy’s chuckles fading away with every step he took.

It was six-thirty on a Wednesday evening, the sun having already set and the faint outline of a full moon visible in the sky.


End file.
